P Deutermann - Spider mountain

“That’s a long hike from where we want to go,” she said. “And the last time we had permission.”

“But it wouldn’t depend on Laurie May Creigh. Plus, I doubt the Park Service people know about your leaving SBI.”

She sighed. “That would mean I’d have to basically impersonate an SBI agent,” she said. “I don’t want to do that. Look: We need to break open this child-smuggling ring. We can’t do that from the safety of the national park. We have to fight the Creighs on their own turf.”

“Taking on your enemy on his home ground is not usually a prescription for success,” I said.

“Mingo has to know he’s got Sheriff Hayes buffaloed,” she said. “He’s been there a long time, and he’s used to getting things his way. So’s Grinny Creigh. If we’re going to do this thing, we have to do what they least expect. It’s the only hope we have.”

They least expect it because it has the smallest chance of success was what I wanted to say.

“I guess I really can’t do this alone,” she said. She’d put a rueful smile on her face, and for a moment she reminded me a little bit of Mary Ellen Goode. A woman who’d been beat up now screwing her courage to the sticking point. She had to know what the odds were, and she was still determined to go back there and uncover the Creighs’ secret. I looked over at the two shepherds, who were still watching from the doorway. They were game, but then again, they were always game. Being game wasn’t the same as being smart, though.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to need.”

We spent the morning doing logistics, checking out of the fancy lodge and into a much smaller motel closer to the Robbins County side of Marionburg. I called Mose Walsh late in the morning and then met him at the outfitter’s shop. Instead of maintaining their own individual shops, most of the local guides were associated with one of the two storefront outfitters in town. Mose met me at the one on the main street of Marionburg. He was chatting up one of the young salesladies at the register counter when I walked in. There were maybe a half dozen customers in the store, most of them just looking at all the woodsy stuff. Mose said something quietly to the girl that made her giggle and then came over to meet me at the front door.

“Don’t you ever quit?” I asked him. The girl at the register looked like she was maybe fifteen.

“Woman once told me,” he said, in his most dignified Big Chief voice, “that I was so damn ugly that women would be either repelled or attracted, but they’d all be just a bit curious.”

“Like your granddaughter over there?”

“She’s twenty-six, married, but not serious about it, God love her.” He looked around to make sure no one was listening to us. “What’re you guys doing, fucking around with Grinny Creigh and her demon spawn?”

“Us?” I said, pretending total innocence. “We’re just going camping.”

He nodded with his head in the direction of the pack racks, and we walked back there. “Word is,” he said, pretending to examine the pack selection, “that the auto-da-fe down at the lodge parking lot last night was a hit squad of meth mechanics from Robbins County.”

“Really,” I said. “What else does Mr. Word have to say?”

“That your lady friend is wearing a headscarf because one Lucas Carr creased her headbone with his thirty-ought, on orders from Nathan, who is, word says, somewhat indisposed up there on Spider Mountain.”

“Big Chief’s jungle drums are fairly well informed in these parts,” I said.

“All sorts of people go to bars. People go to bars, they drink. They drink, they talk. Big Chief doesn’t talk and actually doesn’t drink a whole lot anymore. Big Chief listens. So then they feel they have to fill the void. It’s fucking amazing, sometimes.”

“Heard any stories about the late Rue Creigh?” I asked.

His eyes widened. “That was you?”

It was my turn to pretend to be interested in the packs. I tried out my version of the Indian grunt. Mose wasn’t impressed.

“God damn, man, and you’re going back up there? Why don’t you just go find a hornets’ nest, pluck it down from the tree, and strap it on like a gas mask?”

I took him by the elbow and steered him to a back window where there were no other people. I told him what had happened with Rue and why we were going back in there, and all the wise-ass went right out of him. He stared bleakly out the window for a full minute, digesting what I’d told him. Then he shook his head resignedly.

“Try as you might,” he said wistfully, “you can’t get away from it. Kids?”

I nodded, then had a thought. “What can you tell me about Bill Hayes?” I asked. “Is he possibly in bad health?”

Mose shook his head. “It’s not him. It’s his wife. She’s dying of some badass bone disease. Docs told him to call the hospice. It’s fuckin’ the guy up, to hear the deputies tell it. What’re you and the SBI lady planning to do about this?”

“At the moment, I have no freaking idea,” I said. “First we have to find them.”

“You’ve got that bassackwards,” he said.

“I’m talking about the children, not the Creighs. Look, maybe you could help.”

He gave me a wary sideways look. “Help?”

“Yeah-you hear stuff. You say people talk to you. Push that process a little bit. Anything about exploiting children in Robbins County.”

He stared out the window again. “I told you, I gave that world up when I came back here,” he said. “Bad for the soul.”

I didn’t say anything. Let him fill the void this time.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Against my better judgment, such as it is. How can I find you?”

“We’ll find you,” I said.

Carrie and I had lunch in Marionburg, went back to the motel to make sure we had everything we needed, and then launched for Robbins County. I’d half-expected to see a Carrigan County cop car follow us out of town, but they apparently had bigger fish to fry. We’d divided our stuff into things to leave behind and gear we’d need up there, and left the excess in the motel room. We took my Suburban. I had Nathan’s shotgun. Carrie’s nasty little mamba stick was back in SBI custody, so now she had a nine in a belt holster.

She’d asked me to check her head wound, and to tell the truth, I wasn’t pleased with what I saw. The sutures were red and a little puffy-looking, and she admitted that she had a headache that wouldn’t go away. I asked her if she’d like to go back to the hospital for a quick checkup and maybe an antibiotic shot or at least another Betadine paint job, but she was adamant about getting on with it. I’d told her what Mose had said about Bill Hayes, and she seemed relieved.

It was midafternoon when we crossed the county line. We passed the usual tourist traffic on the two-lane main road as people came back from rafting trips and other excursions into Robbins County. We saw one cop car parked for a late lunch or coffee at a roadside eatery, but no other law enforcement activity on the road. If Mingo was expecting us, he wasn’t being obvious about it. The thought had crossed my mind that Hayes or someone in his office might tip off Mingo and his people, but I discarded the notion. Hayes might be afraid of the hard men in Robbins County, but I didn’t think he was part of their operation. He was preoccupied with problems closer to home.

We got to Laurie May’s place without seeing any of the local residents, and we hoped none of them saw us. I wasn’t worried about the honest citizens, but we hadn’t seen any people out in their yards or along the road leading up to her cabin. We stopped in front and waited for someone to come to the door. I saw Carrie playing absently with the stitches on her scalp and wondered how bad that mess hurt.